Tickety Boo
by Vanillasiren
Summary: In which an Angel and a Demon finally get together.
1. Chapter 1

Tickety-Boo

Summary: In which our Angel and Demon finally get together after the not-pocalyspe. I know I'm late to the party and there are plenty of fics like this, but I just ship them so hard! Please be gentle, kind readers.

Part One: To Sleep Perchance to Dream

It's after dinner, when they're at his place, that Crowley suggests they start drinking again.

He supposes he ought to say no – after all, they had polished off at least a few bottles of champagne between them at the restaurant, and they'd just had "extraordinary amounts of alcohol" a few days ago, but Crowley makes the rather compelling argument that if there's any time to indulge, it's after the almost-but-not-quite-ending of the world, and so here they are. They start out with glasses but then just end up passing the bottle – well, _bottles _– back and forth. There tolerance being far greater than mere mortals, who would most unfortunately have died of alcohol poisoning several times over by now, Aziraphale finds himself at that lovely stage of drunkenness in which one is pleasantly sleepy and finds everything amusing.

Happily, it is the same state of drunkenness which Crowley seems to be in.

They are laughing together at something – or nothing at all, it doesn't really matter – when Aziraphale's giggles turns into a series of yawns, and he thinks how nice it would be to just drop off to sleep. Of course, Angels (and Demons) have no need to sleep, anymore than they need to eat, drink, or breathe, but as with many other things in the mortal world, it's something he finds very pleasant to indulge in. Even so, Crowley's furniture, while stylish, is not very practical for this sort of thing.

"Mmm … I'm going to bed," he mutters, and Crowley hisses in annoyance.

That'ssssss boring."

"No it's not, it's actually quite nice –"

"Nice is boring. Ssssleep is boring. Ssssh, don't be boring, Angel."

"You didn't seem to mind it the other day," Aziraphale says, without thinking.

The striking serpent eyes meet the angelic blue ones for a beat, and both quickly look away.

Well. It had only seemed …. the thing to do at the time. When they were on the bus, Crowley took his hand, gave it a comforting squeeze, knowing his friend was mourning the loss of his bookshop – though he needn't have, as it turned out later – and it was … nice. Harmless. So he had kept his hand in Crowley's, and when he rested his head on Crowley's shoulder, it all seemed … as it should be. He actually nodded off a bit, woke to Crowley gently nudging him awake at their stop. Things got a bit hazy after that, but he did recall Crowley rather kindly offering up his bed, "If you're going to persist with that silly sleeping thing." He told Crowley he was kind, Crowley hissed a "Ssssshad up," without any real malice, and had made to leave, going to do … whatever it is he liked, Aziraphale supposed. And then he had asked the question.

"Crowley?"

A sigh. "Yeah?"

"Will you … will you stay with me a little while? Just until I'm sleeping….?"

There was a pause, and then, "Yeah, alright." He sensed Crowley hovering over the bed, hesitating for a moment, and then laying down beside him. Aziraphale immediately curled into him, gratefully, nuzzling into his warmth.

Crowley was always warm.

His whispered "Thanks," was muffled by Crowley's chest, and …. and he didn't remember anything after that.

He awoke in the morning to find the bed empty except for himself. Bleary-eyed, he managed to read at text from Crowley: "Up to a bit of mischief, trust you can show yourself out."

And they hadn't talked about it since. To be fair, they hadn't had much time – what with coming up with a plan to prevent each other's deaths and all that – and then things seemed to go back to normal, and it seemed best not to bring it up.

Crowley was looking down, probably fiddling with a pair of his sunglasses. "So … so maybe it was okay." He said after what seemed to be long time. "Sssstill boring, though."

Relief flooded Azirapahale after Crowley spoke, though he wasn't sure why, "Well …. we should stop drinking at least."

"Pffffft."

Things got nicely blurry again after that, but at some point, he did make his way to Crowley's – to the bedroom. Most of the furniture in the place was all hard-edged and stiff-backed, the epitome form over function, but the bed was mercifully soft. The alcohol was doing its work and he was back to a careless sort of happiness now, lounging on the bed on his back. Safe.

Crowley stumbled in, waving a bottle around, getting wine on the sheets and the floor.

"Making a mess," Aziraphale muttered, without actually caring all that much about it. Then half-heartedly, "Maybe we should sober up."

"Naaaah," said Crowley, and Aziraphale giggled again. "S'no reason to. 'Sides, I'm not that drunk."

"Oh yes you are."

"Nooooo I'm not…"

"W-walk in a straight line."

"That'sssss eassssy," Crowley said, unconvincingly. He swallowed, looked at his feet, and concentrated. He didn't even make it one step before flopping onto the bed.

"Ssssshut up," he hissed as Aziraphale's laughter, "It'ssss not funny, it's not…. s-ssstupid angel…" But pretty soon he was laughing too, and when the laughter stopped, the silence was simple and companionable.

"Aziraphale?"

"Mmm?" He had almost been asleep.

"I don't … really think you're stupid."

"Oh, I know."

"No really, I mean…" with an impressive effort, Crowley lifted himself up partway, supporting his weight with an only slightly shaky arm. "You're not sssstupid."

"My dear fellow, I know you didn't mean –"

"You're ssssweet," Crowley said, and nuzzled his neck.

"Oh … um …" Well, it felt very nice. He … _tingled_ slightly, the way he sometimes did when Crowley was around, but he supposed there was no harm in it, no harm in Crowley sort of …. well, coiling up next to him like that snake that he was.

And then Crowley's hand was in his hair, gentle, soothing. The Demon lifted his head up again and kissed him once, quite chastely.

And then …. something shifted. They looked at each for a long moment. Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, but Crowley kissed him again before he could speak, and there was… there was his _tongue_, and ….

He let out of a little gasp when their lips finally parted, and then they were kissing again, and it seemed to him that he was moaning into Crowley's mouth, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, feeling the heat of him, relishing it. Crowley let out a little growl of satisfaction and slithered on top of the angel, moving sinuously, and quite suddenly, Aziraphale's body was reacting in a way it never had before. While Angels (and Demons) were sexless, strictly speaking, they were issued the corporal bodies of humans, including all the … ahem … _equipment_, so to speak. Some Angels had taken rather unnecessary liberties with this, in earlier days – those poor, misbegotten Nephilim sprang to mind – but he himself had never had to worry about anything of that sort –

Until now.

Crowley's lips left his own, and then, deliciously, they were on neck, kissing his way down, one hand tugging impatiently at his shirt, the other reaching down for his zipper, for his hardening –

"Crowley!"

He didn't know quite why the Demon stopped. Maybe Crowley had heard the fear in his voice. For an instant, he saw a pained, pained expression is those remarkable serpentine eyes. And then it was gone, replaced by a slow, lazy grin – the kind of smirk he usually had. He slid off Aziraphale's body and moved away slightly.

"Ssssorry… maybe you're right, too much wine…"

"Crowley…"

"No …ssssh, sssh, just go to sleep, it's all fine, it's all… fine, like you sssaid, it's tickety …. tickety-boo."

And then Crowley was curled harmlessly and sweetly at his side again.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale breathed. A loud snore was his only response. Mercifully, after a few moments, the ahh, _swelling_, so to speak, went down, and he felt more like his usual self.

If there had been less wine in his system, the Angel might have fretted more over what just happened. As it was, the blissful escape of slumber beckoned him far too temptingly. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around the Demon, closed his eyes, and fell asleep too.


	2. Chapter 2

Tickety-Boo

Part Two: What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?

There were very few times when the Angel Aziraphale was unhappy to see the sun shining bright.

Waking up after a night of heavy drinking was one of those times. Sobering oneself right after imbibing was one thing. However, as it turned out, celestial beings did not have any miraculous means with which to un-hangover themselves.

The Angel groaned as the sunlight hit his face. He didn't like this at all. It was most unpleasant. He wondered if Crowley felt as bad as –

_Crowley._

It all came back to him in rush. Crowley shaking the wine bottle around, flopping onto the bed. Crowley nuzzling his neck, Crowley kissing him gently and then urgently, Crowley on top of him –

The confusion. The fear.

_The overwhelming desire to continue …._

Aziraphale turned his head a bit too fast and stifled another groan. Crowley wasn't next to him anymore. Had he dashed off again?

"Ah, you're awake."

And there he was, leaning carelessly in the doorway, glasses on, as though nothing had happened … or almost happened … as though nothing had changed.

"Not so loud!" Aziraphale said, although the Demon had spoken quite softly.

A slight smirk graced Crowley's face. "Right then. Coffee and aspirin, when you're ready. I've already had mine. And there's even some food, if you can stomach it." And he walked out.

After a moment, Aziraphale rose, slowly, straightening himself up as best he could. _What a mess I've made of things, _he thought. He could still remember the pain in Crowley's eyes. He should have insisted they sober up… he should have gone back to the book shop…

_He should have let Crowley go on, and on, and on …_

He bit his lip and made his way to the area of Crowley's abode that served as a kitchen of sorts. As conflicted as he was, he was drawn to the scent of strong coffee.

Crowley was lounging on that throne of his. Aziraphale disliked the throne on principle, telling Crowley it was ostentatious and possibly blasphemous, while secretly being rather fascinated with it …and how especially elegant the Demon looked sitting in it …

Aziraphale cleared his throat. Crowley nodded at the place he had set out, and then looked away.

The Angel quickly had his coffee and aspirin. Focused on mitigating his hangover, it took him a while to notice what was on the plate before him …

"_Crepes_."

"Yeah." Crowley's tone was carefully indifferent.

"Oh. Well. You … didn't have to. Although I still maintain the only good ones can be found in –"

"Paris, yeah. I remember. Where do you think I got them?"

Aziraphale turned to stare at him, but Crowley avoided his gaze. "You … you went all the way to _Paris_ … just to get me crepes?"

Crowley shrugged and stood up, still not making eye contact. "It's not … it's nothing. I mean, I was quick about it, so…" Crowley looked awkward. He had never seen Crowley looked awkward before. It didn't suit him.

"I probably should have waited … with the crepes. To see if you really wanted them, I mean. I know – I know I go to fassst for you, sometimes."

"Crowley…"

"I don't mean anything by it… it's jussst my nature…"

Aziraphale got up from the table, his undoubtedly marvelous crepes left untouched. He walked over to Crowley, came so close their faces were almost touching. Was Crowley actually trembling, or was he imagining it?

_Maybe I'm not the only one who's afraid._

"Crowley, my dear, I…"

"Listen, Angel, let'ssss just forget … w-what are you doing?"

Aziraphale wasn't quite sure of that himself, but his hands found their way to Crowley's face, removing his glasses, looking into those eyes, eyes full of pain and wanting, wanting, _wanting_…

Aziraphale cupped Crowley's face with his hands and kissed him.

The kiss was soft and sweet, like the Angel himself. He took his time with it, relishing Crowley's reactions.

When their lips parted, they looked at each other.

"_Oh_," Crowley said softly.

"Um … yes, well." Crowley was stroking the Angel's face now. The mixture of tenderness and hunger in expression was … Aziraphale suddenly found himself feeling very warm.

"Perhaps we – we should discuss –"

Crowley's kiss was neither soft nor sweet. It was hot, hard, urgent. Aziraphale moaned into his mouth again, and when Crowley was trailing more kisses down his neck, Aziraphale called out his name, not as warning for him to stop, but as a plea for him to continue. The stumbled their way back to the bedroom, kissing all the while, and when Crowley pinned him up against the wall and ground against him, Aziraphale responded in kind, and wondered how he had ever managed to lie to himself so effectively. He _wanted _Crowley. Always.

_Always._

Deft, graceful fingers undid the buttons on his shirt, and then the Demon was kissing his way down, and Aziraphale gasped at every new sensation. He felt Crowley's hand on his hardness and whimpered.

"Is this alright?" Crowley whispered.

"Yes."

Crowley removed the lower garments quickly, then stood up again, looking at Aziraphale and then kissing him deeply. And when he began stroking him, slowly at first, his Angel broke off the kiss and let out a deep moan, and Crowley thought there was no better sound in all the Universe.

"Sssssso you like that, do you, Angel?" He hissed in Aziraphale's ear.

"Oh … yes."

Crowley removed his hand, and Aziraphale whined in protest, but only for a moment, his eyes widening as Crowley dropped to his knees before him.

"Crowley…?"

"Ssssh, Angel. I'm going to take care of you."

_The wet heat …_

_His mouth …. His tongue…_

The Angel's hips bucked and his knees grew weak. He had no control now. He wanted none. He gave himself completely over to the Demon's ministrations, whimpering, calling out his name, surrendering to the pure pleasure Crowley was giving him. It didn't take long before…

"Oh Crowley, oh Crowley _darling, _I – I –"

Aziraphale came hard and fast, his whole body shaking as he spent himself, as Crowley seemed to swallow him whole. It was several moments before the aftershocks wore off, and several more before he could speak.

Crowley stood up again, looking smug as only a snake could.

"Ssscrumptious." He whispered. Aziraphale gave an embarrassed little laugh and leaned against him, letting Crowley hold him up. Then he pulled away slightly and started, almost shyly, to unbutton Crowley's shirt. He felt slow and clumsy, especially after Crowley had so smoothly and swiftly divested him, but the Demon seemed not to mind at all – seemed rather fascinated, in fact, with the process he was making. Of course, Aziraphale had to stop several times to nuzzle Crowley's chest, but there was something to be said for taking one's time. Then there was the small matter of the zipper to those rather form-fitting pants of his, which he nervously fiddled with before getting down, and then Crowley was stepping out of the rest of his clothing, kissing him, guiding his hand down…

"Like that?"

Crowley moaned and his hips jerked forward. "Like that," grunted, leaning against Aziraphale. "Yesss, yess, jussst like that."

This went on for a few minutes, with Crowley seeming to quite enjoy himself, when he suddenly grabbed the Angel and spun him around. Aziraphale found himself hunched over the bed, Crowley behind him, the Demon's hardness grazing the small of his back.

Aziraphale understood right away what he wanted. He apprehensive and eager, in equal measure. Sensing this through his haze of desire, Crowley said, "We don't have to. We can do something else."

Aziraphale shook his head. He was done letting fear dictate his responses. "I want this. I trust you."

Crowley wrapped his arms around the Angel from behind and kissed his shoulder tenderly.

And so he started, first with his finger, carefully gauging Aziraphale's sensitivity, alert to any discomfort. When he touched the place where Aziraphale _needed_ to be touched, the Angel groaned and pushed back, wanting more. Soon enough, Crowley was entering him, lubricating things with a thought, easing his way into the tight heat, going as slowly as he could, despite his instincts screaming at him to go hard and fast. How, _how_ had he waited so long? The Angel felt so good he could cry.

At first, Crowley's thrusts were slow, teasing, and controlled. Then, at Aziraphale's whimpered cries of _harder_ and _faster_ he began to abandon restraint, lose control. Aziraphale could hear his ragged breathing and low moans, more intoxicating than any wine. He was hard again already.

"Aziraphale," Crowley hissed, tender and rough all at the same time. "Angel. _My_ Angel."

"Yes!"

Crowley's thrust became even more wild, more frantic, until he could bear it no longer and came inside Arizaphale, reaching for the Angel's own hardness and giving two perfect strokes before Aziraphale came again, unable to wait any longer for another release.

Crowley pulled out gently, and they collapsed on the bed together, slick with sweat, shaking, and sated.

It was Aziraphale who spoke first.

"I can't believe we did that."

"I can't believe we waited so long."

They both laughed. Later, each of them knew, there could be consequences. But just now, everything was perfect.

"Crowley?"

"Hmm."

"When … when did you know that you…" Aziraphale hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "…that you fancied me?"

"Oh, from the Garden."

Aziraphale gaped, and Crowley seemed to suddenly realize what he had just said.

"I mean, you know," Crowley said, trying and failing for a casual tone, "When you told me you gave away that sword, I just thought you were, well … rather interesting, that you had … just a little bit of a rebellious spirit in you, you know, but you didn't rebel just for the fun out, like a lot of my lot did, you did it because you actually cared about those humans. Lots of those Angels up there didn't really seem to care about them much." While Aziraphale was inclined to reluctantly agree with this assessment, he said nothing. "And then of course, there was …" but Crowley had stopped.

"What?"

"Well … don't look at me."

"But my dear fellow, why?"

"'Coz I can't have you looking at me when I'm telling this part, okay?" Crowley snapped. Aziraphale hid a smile as his eyes dropped obediently.

"Well, it starting raining, and you, you know, you sort of … put your wing over me, remember? So I wouldn't get wet, I suppose, and …"

"And?"

"And it was just soo … soo _kind_ you know, and no one had been kind to me in a very long time, and your feathers looked sssssso s-sssssssoft, and they smelled so good, and I wanted to reach up and touch them, but that would have been rude, but I _wanted_ …"

Crowley's voice trailed off and he buried his face in Aziraphale's shoulder. They were quiet for a long minute.

"You … wanted to touch them?"

"Yeah."

"Then go ahead."

And Aziraphale unfurled his wings around them.

He heard Crowley's sharp intake of breath. "Can I really…?"

"Of course."

Crowley reached out and stroked his feather's gently. They were indescribably soft and cool to the touch. He inhaled their scent. He had missed that soothing, clean sort of smell, a scent he could instantly recognize but never define.

Crowley touching his feathers was a different kind of intimacy. It was sensual and relaxing in a way he had never known. He sighed contentedly, letting himself enjoy the moment.

"Beautiful," Crowley said, almost reverently.

"You know Crowley … I thought yours were beautiful too."

Crowley scoffed, but Aziraphale pressed on.

"No, I mean … in the Garden, you just seemed so … well, the other Demons, and ah, I don't mean to be unkind, but –"

"Oh, please do –"

"Well, they were all rather nasty-looking sorts, you know? I mean, I knew they'd fallen, but I couldn't see how they'd ever been Angels, but you, well you were just so … so graceful, I mean, so elegant, and I liked your hair, and your wings were rather … I mean, they were black, but they were still magnificent, and…"

"_Magnificent_?"

"And you just talked so … normally, you know, so reasonable… no hatred… no malice… and you challenged me, you know, challenged my thinking, and … your eyes … a-and your wings." He finished lamely.

Slowly, the Demon unfurled his own wings. He could not see the magnificence the Angel described, but he very much liked the way Aziraphale was looking at them. When he reached out and stroked them, gently, Crowley shivered at the warmth, at the tenderness. It was so sweet, it was almost too much. He closed his eyes.

Where Aziraphale's feathers were cool, Crowley's feathers were warm, even hot. The Angel thought there was an earthy, musky scent, with a whiff of something exotic, or dangerous, or both.

They explored each other's wings at their leisure, kissing and caressing softly, letting words fall away and sensations reign supreme.

Above and below, Heaven and Hell still plotted. On Earth, disasters and miracles, large and small, proceeded apace without any need for Demonic or Angelic intervention.

But in this moment, in this room, in this bed, all that mattered was to the two of them, a contented tangle of feathers and limbs.


	3. Chapter 3

Tickety-Boo

Part Three: The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth

In the afterglow, Aziraphale wants to say it.

He just isn't sure Crowley will want to hear it … yet. Or ever.

Angels are, by their nature, beings of love. They were made to love God and all her creatures, all her creations. They were meant to spread love and goodness, and to encourage these qualities in mankind.

If, over the millennia, someone had asked him if he loved Crowley, he would have answered yes, and it would have been simple. Aziraphale had always taken the idea of universal love to mean loving without caveats or exceptions. He loved the humans and the insects and the gorillas and the dolphins and the whales and the trees and the apples and the snake that turned into an elegant flame-haired fallen Angel with remarkable serpentine eyes who looked at him in a way that made him feel all fluttery inside and…

It had occurred to Aziraphale, in the moments when he allowed himself to reflect on such things, that perhaps his love for Crowley was of a less … general variety than his love for the humans or the trees or the dolphins. His heart did not leap when he saw a tree. He did not automatically smile when he heard the voice of a human. No gorillas or dolphins (bless them) had ever saved his corporeal form or his beloved books. And no one and nothing could make him feel so good as this, curled – coiled – up beside him, all feathers and skin, so beautiful, so precious, so…

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Crowley, who clasped the back of the Angel's head, ran fingers through his hair. "Hmmm, Angel," Crowley said softly, sounding drunk and drowsy with contentment, "I never want to leave this bed."

Aziraphale laughed softly. "We do have to get up eventually."

Crowley made a dismissive noise and pulled him in for another kiss. Aziraphale could not remember when he had been so deliriously happy.

_I love you_, he thought, but did not say.

He understood Crowley perhaps better than one might have expected. The Demon liked to make light of his Fall, but there were those times, those unguarded moments, when his eyes gave him away. There was pain, there was bitterness, there was resentment in those eyes. The Fallen had not chosen to leave Heaven, after all. They had been cast out. They too had once been beings of light and love, of ethereal and eternal beauty. "All I ever did was ask questions," Crowley whispered once, centuries ago, after several bottles of wine. "All I ever did was want answers." But God had brooked no questions, given no answers, and the punishment for rebellion (or so it seemed to the Demons) was to be cut off from God's love. And so, they had to learn to live without it, hadn't they? All those fallen Angels, so angry, so hateful – something had to fill the void that love left behind.

He wants to tell Crowley … he wants to tell him so much. How much he loves him, how worthy he is of love, how deserving he is of understanding, of forgiveness, how fundamentally _good _he is, despite everything. But he doesn't know if Crowley is ready to accept these truths. If he will ever be ready. If he could, he would bide his time, try to convince Crowley in other ways. But oh, he loves Crowley, is _in love _with Crowley, and one of these days, it's going to come bursting out of him, unplanned, and then what will they do?

He supposes he must have faith. He will get Crowley to believe him.

"Oh Crowley, you're so dear. So sweet."

"Don't be sssilly. You're ssssweet. I'm not. I'm wicked."

"You're … you're not really wicked, darling …"

"Yes I am. I'm a big wicked scary mean demon." He smiled, snuggling closer to Aziraphale. "Fear me."

The Angel chuckled and nuzzled his neck. "Prove it."

"Well, ssspose I could slam you up against a wall again … give you another good scare."

"I wasn't scared my dear."

"'Course you were."

"Actually, if you must know, I was rather …excited."

Crowley's eyes, which had been almost closed in contentment, snapped open. "You were _what?_"

Aziraphale was blushing. "Well, it's just … you were so very close to me, my dear … I mean your face was almost touching mine, and I … I couldn't help but think what would happen if …"

"If…?"

"If I said it again, perhaps … perhaps y-you would have …. h-had your way with me, right there…."

In a flash, they were out of bed, and Crowley had Aziraphale pinned up against the wall, just as it had been before. Neither of them had realized they could get so hard again so fast.

"Ssssay I'm nice again," Crowley hissed, so close their noses where were practically touching. "I dare you."

"But you are nice," Aziraphale squeaked, and Crowley crush the Angel's mouth with his own. Aziraphale moaned eagerly, sucking on the slightly forked tongue, molding his body to Crowley's, needing to be as close as possible.

Crowley broke the kiss and pressed into him, pinning Aziraphale's arms above his head. He ran his tongue along his collarbone and hissed in ear, "I'm going to fuck you now."

Aziraphale shivered. "Are … are you going to be nice about it?"

"No."

"_Good_."

A while later, and they had collapsed together again, tired and sated once more.

"My dear, I do believe you just ravished me."

"Angel, I do believe you enjoyed every minute of it."

"I certainly did." Aziraphale kissed him again, took his time with it, soft and sweet loving, trying to convey in actions what Crowley was not ready to hear in words. It seemed to him Crowley almost trembled at it, the tenderness, the gentleness, the slow loving caress that only his Angel could give him.

"Crowley?"

"Hm?"

"Are we … not friends anymore?"

The Demon blinked. "Of course we're still friends. Why would you say that?"

"Well it seems to me that the term friendship might not apply anymore … I mean, our relationship has … changed."

"So what if it has?"

"What I mean is, are we friends or … something more?" _I love you_, _Crowley. Please let me love you._

"And."

"What?"

"We're not friends _or_ something more, Angel," Crowley said patiently, as if explaining it to a child. "We're friends and … something more. It's not one or the other, it's both."

"Are … are you sure, my dear? Are you sure it can be and?"

"Come on, Angel, think about it. Do you really want to live your life on one side of an ampersand?"

Aziraphale took a deep breath, though of course he didn't need to, technically speaking. "No," he said, after a moment. "I don't suppose that I do."

"All right then," Crowley said, and snuggled into him. They were quiet for a moment.

"Crowley?"

"You're not still fretting are you, Angel?"

"No, not exactly, I was just wondering … what is the 'something more'? I mean, what's on the other side of the ampersand?"

Crowley lifted his head up, smiled at his Angel. "Oh. Well, I rather think that … I rather think that it's everything. You being my everything. And I being yours."

Aziraphale's heart swelled. Was this Crowley's way of saying 'I love you,' without using the actual words? If so, he'd take it … for now.

"Everything. Oh, I rather like that idea."

Crowley smirked. "Thought you might," he said, and leaned in for another kiss.

And so the pair continued, on both sides of the ampersand. They did eventually leave the bedroom, venture out to do some of the other things they liked doing together, and separately. Aziraphale read his books. They listened to music together – different sorts of music, that did not turn into Queen songs as long as the Angel was present. Now, Crowley liked Queen as much as the next immortal being, but really, one did want a little variety once in a while, and Aziraphale always had an ear for the best classical pieces. Crowley was still not too keen on reading, but upon Aziraphale's insistence, had gamely tried books on tape, both in his car and at home. He actually got fairly into one or two of them, until they inevitably turned into Queen songs just when they were getting to the best bits. It was rather frustrating.

"What if I read aloud to you instead?" Aziraphale had suggested, and Crowley had eagerly agreed.

And so it came to pass that, many nights, when the bookshop was closed (or even when it was open, as customers came in rarely), the Angel and the Demon could be found curled up on a couch together, Crowley nuzzling his companion's shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded, listening to the enthusiastic narration of a classic or a newly discovered treasure. Sometimes, it must be admitted, Crowley stopped listening to the words and just let the Angel's dear voice wash over him, watched the expressions change on his face, watched the movement of his hands as he subconsciously acted out pivotal dramatic moments. And when Aziraphale would catch him at it, Crowley didn't even have the grace to look guilty.

"Darling, you're not listening," Aziraphale said, trying to be cross with him and failing spectacularly.

"'Course I was," Crowley smirked.

"Oh really? What was the story I was reading, then?"

The Demon's grin stretched wider. "Oh, it was a lovely story. About a sweet darling Angel and the dashingly handsome Demon he couldn't help but go mad for…"

Aziraphale chuckled and Crowley lifted his head up to kiss him. "That's not the story at all."

Crowley deepened the kiss and set the book carefully aside. He would have tossed it away, but he didn't want his Angel to be upset. "Well it bloody well should be."

Other nights, they would go out. They had struck up a friendship of sorts with Anathema and Newt, with Shadwell and Madame Tracy, and even with the Them. Anathema was helping the latter couple plan a small but important wedding ceremony. They planned on moving to a small cottage together, and would subsist on Madame Tracy's savings and the Witchfinder Retirement Pension (generously provided in a joint monthly stipend by the Angel and the Demon, at Aziraphale's insistence). Aziraphale, as it turned out, rather liked going over wedding details with the two women, including the menu. The affair was to be catered by Newt himself; Anathema had recently discovered, to her delight, that Newt was an excellent chef and an even better baker. When asked why he had gone into computers, rather than putting to use his obvious talent in the culinary arts, Newt shrugged and said his father had told him computers were the future. There was talk of Newt opening a small bakery, supported (at least initially) by Anathema's money.

As for Crowley, wedding talk bored him, but he did like to wind up Shadwell with tales of the witches he'd know (or at least heard of), and he did enjoy playing a few pranks on the Them every now and again. Nobody really minded, as the pranks turned out to be far more amusing then malevolent, and it kept Crowley busy while the wedding talk droned on.

Dining out was still one of Aziraphale's favorite, activities, of course. These days, Crowley seemed to enjoy it more as well. He normally ate little to nothing when they dined, seeming content to watch Aziraphale relish his meal, but now, he started nibbling on things, sampling different dishes, seeming to take a least a mild interest in flavors and textures that he had not previously demonstrated.

"I am so glad you are finally enjoying the food, my dear," Aziraphale said during one such meal, as Crowley sampled some cheesecake, one of his companion's favorites. "You never did seem to go much for eating before. Of course, it's not necessary, but it can be so nice." He took another bite of his own dish.

"Mm, when I rather preferred to watch you enjoy the food," Crowley said, with a sly look that Aziraphale did not quite understand.

"I thought you did! By why, my dear? Whatever did you find so fascinating about…" Aziraphale paused, his face going rather red as it began to dawn on him. No, it couldn't be … could it?

Crowley grinned wickedly. "Could I help it if you make the most delectable little sounds when eating? All your soft little moans of pleasure…" the Demon's foot rubbed up against his leg under the table. "It was really quite enticing. Sometimes I almost wondered if you did it deliberately."

"I …" His mouth had suddenly gone very try.

"Now, of course, I can hear you moan like that any time I want." Crowley leaned in. "I can _make _you moan like that … just like that."

Aziraphale stared at him, opened-mouthed, his fork dropping to his plate. A split second later, they were both rather hastily calling for the check.

They didn't even box up the leftovers.

In the car, neither of them spoke, both tense and taut with desire. Driving as fast as he could without panicking the Angel, Crowley let one hand rest on Aziraphale's knee, as it had many times before. Only this time, the hand wouldn't stay put. It caressed Aziraphale's thigh and ended up his lap. The Angel whimpered, and Crowley let out a growl of satisfaction at how hard he was, already. He couldn't resist touching him there, giving a squeeze though his clothes. Aziraphale moaned. Crowley wanted to look over at him, his flushed, rumpled Angel, but kept his eye glued to the road through sheer force of will. He squirmed in his seat, feeling his own body respond in kind.

"Crowley," Aziraphale panted, "S-stop."

The Demon's wayward hand immediately stilled. "No," Aziraphale clarified. "I mean, s-stop the car… oh … I need … I need you right now."

Crowley groaned in satisfaction and came to a stop, needing no further prompting. The fact that he had gotten his Angel so hot and bothered that he couldn't wait until they got home was beyond exciting. Once the car was parked, he fairly pounced on Aziraphale, grinding his hips into him, feeling the Angel's hardness answer his own.

"I didn't know these seats went all the way back," Aziraphale managed to say weakly, before kissing Crowley and tangling his fingers in the lovely red hair.

"They do now."

A good while later, they stumbled out of the Bentley at Crowley's place, clothes rumpled, hair mussed, laughing giddily and they made their way up to the bed, collapsing together into a pile of contentment.

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley spoke much these days about their respective head offices. They were on their own side, after all. They didn't know how long this could last, this open togetherness, but they intended to savor every moment while it was here. Aziraphale relished being able to touch Crowley, and not just in sexual ways (although that was very nice, to touch and be touched, to give each other pleasure and comfort and excitement). He also enjoyed the normal, human gestures two people performed when they were close. The simple act of Crowley taking his hand or putting an arm around him as they walked through the park together. A soft kiss on the cheek or an even softer kiss on the lips as they temporarily parted ways. It was all so wonderfully … _ordinary_. Crowley was his best friend, still, and now, his lover too. He was right. No reason to live their lives on one side of an ampersand. Not anymore.

On one such day of ordinary living, Aziraphale woke up in Crowley's bed to find it empty, save himself. The smell of coffee and something else delicious drew him into Crowley's minimalist kitchen – although it's considerably less minimalist than before, now that the Angel's spending so much of his time there. Much to his delight, there is an assortment of breakfast pastries laid out as he enters.

Crowley smiled at the look of pleased surprise on Aziraphale's face. "Samples from Newt's soon-to-be bakery," he said, by way of explanation. "When he said he wanted to try his creations on a sophisticated palate, I volunteered you. And me. But mostly you."

They sat down and began sampling Newt's wares. Everything was quite delightful, Aziraphale thought. Good food and even better company. Could an Angel ask for more?

He was halfway through a chocolate croissant when a brochure caught his eye. "Oh, what's this?" He picked it up.

"Oops. Oh, uh … you weren't supposed to see that till later … after the picnic," Crowley muttered, but Aziraphale was already reading through the pamphlet.

"Cottages … in the South Downs… Crowley, were you planning on moving?" He felt a slight panic set in. Was Crowley needing space, wanting to live apart from him?

"Er. Well. Actually, I was. And I was thinking, I mean I was hoping …" Crowley paused. "That is to say, I'd rather like it you would … come with me. To live, I mean. If you want to. There are some nice places, with a surprising amount of space and … well. It's just an idea."

"The two of us … living together?

"Well, I mean, we practically do now, when you think about it. You're always over here, or I'm always over at the bookshop… it just seems like the logical next … it's a simplification, is what I'm saying."

"This place you're looking at … does it have a library?"

"Of course it does! A great bloody big one! You think I'm stupid?" But Crowley was grinning.

"And there's space for a garden, for the dear plants?" Aziraphale continued eagerly. The plants had been having a much better time of it since Crowely and Aziraphale had become intimate, and were quite grateful for the Angel's presence; they had never been spoken to so gently before.

"Naturally."

"Oh Crowley," said Aziraphale, jumping up from the table. "What a wonderful idea! Yes, let's move in together!"

Aziraphale hugged him, and Crowley hugged him back. "Well, I can show you the place I have in mind then, and you can give it your stamp of approval. There's no rush of course, but …"

"Oh let's do rush, darling. I can't wait to live with you! I love you so."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They flowed as naturally as could be.

Crowley stiffened in his arms, and they pulled apart.

"I'm … sorry." Aziraphale said awkwardly. Crowley was looking at the floor. "I didn't mean…" and then he stopped.

"No. I'm not going to do this. I can't hold back anymore. I'm not sorry. I did mean it. Crowley. Crowley, look at me." The angel tilted his chin up, cupped his lover's face in his hands. "Crowley, I do love you. I love you so much …"

Crowley attempted a weak laugh. "You love everything, Angel. It's your nature."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Crowley was trembling, just slightly. "I love you, in particular. I am _in love _with you. I have been for a long time, and I will never stop. You're just going to have to accept it."

Crowley was really shaking now. In fact, he looked angry. "Don't be ssssstupid," he said, his voice broken. "I'm a Demon. You … you can't."

Aziraphale drew him close again. "Oh? And why not?"

"Because … because… you can't!" Crowley burst out, all grief and anger and bitterness. "We are the fallen. We're not supposed to be loved, we're only supposed to be hated!" He was almost shouting now. "We're evil, we're outcast, we are unworthy…"

Aziraphale gripped him tight. "No. No you're not. Oh my darling, you deserve … you deserve everything. And you will have it. Everything I had to give. I love you. I forgive you. You are worthy, you are worthy of it all. Please believe me…"

Crowley's features twisted in a bitter grimace. "Love," he sneered, "Love humiliates you. Hatred cradles you. It's … sssssoothing."

The Angel shook his head. "No. Love strengthens you. Frees you. It's … an ever-fixed mark. I love you Crowley. Always have. Always will."

Crowley seemed to break into a million pieces, right before his eyes. It was terrible. It was beautiful. Aziraphale gathered the Demon up in his arms, taking him back to the bedroom.

Crowley was crying, something Aziraphale had never seen before. He kissed the tears away as fast as he could, kissed him everywhere, whispering "Love you, love you, love you" with every breath, willing the Demon to believe it.

"I love you Crowley." The Demon was sobbing now, clinging to Aziraphale like a drowning man. "I love you, and you are so worthy. Say it, believe it. Please." Aziraphale began trailing kisses down Crowley's chest, his stomach, making his way ever southward, intent on showing Crowley how much he meant to him.

"Oh Angel," Crowley gasped, as the wet heat of Aziraphale's mouth engulfed him, "Oh Angel, yesssss."

Aziraphale took him time, using lips and teeth and tongue to find out what Crowley liked best. He wanted him utterly overwhelmed with love and light and pleasure.

"Uh, uh." Crowley began thrusting into his mouth, and Aziraphale knew he was close. "Oh Aziraphale, oh Angel, I'm – I'm gonna –" And then he had lost control completely and was spilling into his mouth, coming with a sob of relief, completely giving himself over to his Angel.

After a few moments, Aziraphale was stroking his face, kissing the last of the tears away. "I love you, and you are worthy of my love. Do you believe me?"

"I … I think I do. Oh Angel, look what you've done to me." He gave a helpless little laugh. Then, he spread his legs out, offering himself, open, exposed, and vulnerable. So indescribably beautiful.

"Make love to me," Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale let out a little gasp. This was more than just sex. This was a gesture of complete trust.

He explored Crowley's opening, hesitantly at first, with his fingers. He found the same spot in Crowley's body that Crowley had found in him, confirmed when the Demon groaned and pushed down, letting the fingers slip further inside. Lubrication was quickly provided via miracle and then the Angel was easing his way in as Crowley moaned encouragement, joining their bodies in a way that was somehow sacred as well as erotic. They quickly found a rhythm; Aziraphale went slow at first, so as not to hurt or overwhelm his lover (he knew without having to be told that this was his first time being penetrated), but soon he was moving hard, fast, urgent, letting Crowley's desperate cries of "More!" and "Harder!" spur him on. He was close, and Crowley was close, and they came together, crying out each other's names, collapsing together in the utter bliss of their joining, sated, spent.

"You … you really do love me?" Crowley whispered.

"Always," Aziraphale whispered back.

It was several minutes later, when they were drifting off to sleep, that he heard Crowley say it. "Angel. Angel, I … I … _love_ … you too."

"I know, my dearest one. I know."


End file.
